


Vietnam

by discodeakyrocks



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, LGBTQ Themes, Love, M/M, Nightmares, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Romance, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discodeakyrocks/pseuds/discodeakyrocks
Summary: “Vietnam. 1968. April.”“Sh**!” I buried my face in my hands, and couldn’t help but let a dry sob escape my throat. Why did the worst things have to happen to me? Why did it have to be me who ended up time travelling into a war? In the sixties, no less! The sixties may have been good, but not great. No Queen, or Backstreet Boys, or Die Hard, or Reese's Pieces, or… “Beyoncé. I’m never gonna hear Beyoncé again!”The story of Klaus Hargreeves' time in Vietnam, from meeting Dave Katz, to partying all night in a questionable Vietnamese nightclub, to having his heart broken on the war's frontline.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Kudos: 6





	Vietnam

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! If you're reading this, thank you so much for picking my book to read! I wanted to write this because The Umbrella Academy is literally the best thing ever, and it really annoys me that we don't really know what happened in Klaus' 10 months in Vietnam, as I love Klaus & Dave and I just want to know what happened, so I've written what I imagine would've. Hope you enjoy! :))))

My eyes wide in terror, I peered out of the grimy window as the bus continued to wait at the stop. The two assassins- doughnut man and the very angry lady- could come running out of that hell motel at any moment. You thought Norman Bates’s motel was scary? That place was ten times worse.

I knew it wouldn’t be long until the horror twins emerged looking for me- I mean, there are only a certain amount of vent exits in one building- so the bus needed to leave. Now!

And, thank Christ and his crackers, it did, beginning to slowly pull away from the bus stop. My sigh of relief quickly turned into a slightly hysterical sound which sounded somewhere between a laugh and a moan. My various wounds from those monsters were pretty painful, but were nothing I hadn’t dealt with before; the feeling of relief I felt that I had come out alive from that hotel room was far stronger than the throbbing of my injuries.

The woman sitting opposite me was giving me a rather strange look- like the driver had, but more concerned than an alarmed ‘are you a deranged lunatic?!’ face. I guess a mostly naked, bleeding and super sexy man with only a towel to cover the bits and a mysteriously large briefcase looks a little… abnormal, but this is New York City for crying out loud- I’m sure you’ve seen stranger things, darling.

However, that smoky look she was giving me coupled with those damn… hot… red glasses meant that I couldn’t help myself. I treated her to a wink and a mischievous smile, and, in return, she smiled sympathetically, but, I promise you, there was definitely a spark of interest in her eyes. She was totally into me.

But, alas, there were certainly more important to concentrate on, so I turned my small amount of attention to the big black briefcase perched awkwardly on my lap. 

“Please be money, please be money, please be money…” I murmured to myself as I turned the case onto its side. The hideousness of withdrawal meant that I was craving a hit of… anything, really, as long it was drugs of some kind. Slowly, ever so slowly, I opened the case up.

Please be money.

Please be money.

Please be mon-

CRACK!

A flash of blinding blue and white light, and I was gone.

. . .

Suffocation.

Confusion.

The sound of deafening explosions.

Flashing lights.

The faint ticking of a clock…

SMASH!

I crashed into the ground, the impact almost knocking me out as the briefcase smacked into my ribs and the bright blue light faded. 

My head spinning, I breathed in a harsh intake of breath, and, awareness flooding back into my dazed brain, I suddenly noticed many things were wrong. 

The first was that it was far hotter than usual. And it wasn’t even the nice heat that gives you a tan, or the one in Florida that causes millions of holiday-makers to flock there every year, I imagine (though I wouldn’t know because dear old Daddy didn’t believe in holidays), but the horrible kind of humidity that makes you feel like every cell in your body is burning up. It even smelt hot. 

And then there were the sounds. They flew through my ears, deafening and unbearable. The sound of… explosions? Gunshots? Where on God’s green earth was I?!

I opened my eyes, and saw that I was in some sort of large tent with about two dozen men in, yelling and rushing about, telling each other to get ready and hurry up. They were moving frantically, pulling on Khaki-coloured clothing and grabbing rifles and what seemed like every other weapon under the Sun, whilst others were sprinting out of the tent as they pulled helmets over their heads.

But, in the midst of all the panic, they hadn’t seemed to have noticed m- … as usual, I spoke too soon.

“You got mud in your ears, boy?” a man in his forties yelled, and I looked at him, terrified, as I realised he was speaking to me. “Get dressed!”

“N-no! I’m-- I’m not--” I began to protest desperately, but the man interrupted me. 

“War’s not gonna wait for you to get pretty!” War? War! I couldn’t believe it- it was just my luck to somehow end up in a war zone after spending days being tortured. The man suddenly gestured at a man to his right, “Chaz! Get this man operational. And get him a pair of pants! Let’s go!” he then walked away, obviously having more important things to worry about than the random half-naked man who had just appeared in his tent. 

The other man- soldier- he had been talking to- Chaz- flung a pair of trousers at me, and feeling numb and disorientated, I pulled them on, too confused and scared to do anything else. I had never been so terrified in my life (though the time where dear ol’ papa shut me in the mausoleum was probably up there as well). He then handed me a top which I put on, followed by a short sleeved jacket. Finally, a helmet was shoved on my head by another soldier and I was handed a rifle. 

The soldiers continued moving outside, and I let myself be pulled out by them, my coat and the briefcase abandoned inside the tent. The man, who I had now assumed with my limited army knowledge was the lieutenant and in charge of the other soldiers, shouted at us, telling us to “Quick march, boys!”. Usually, I would have been rebelling against the order with my infamous rule-breaking streak, but the pure fear pumping through my veins meant that it didn’t even occur to me to ignore the lieutenant’s commands. 

I kept walking, hardly noticing my surroundings- which were so full of trees it was as though we were in a jungle. My head was spinning, and I felt so ridiculously overwhelmed.

The withdrawal was still at its worst, meaning that my stomach hurt so badly it felt as though Luther with his big, hairy hands was squeezing it so that it would explode. The eruptions of emotions and nightmare memories engulfed me, and the voices… the screaming voices of people in agony- “Klaus! Help us, please!”- was making me feel one hundred times worse. 

I didn’t notice that I had slowed down so that I was almost at the back of the group.

The headache that I had felt like cotton had been shoved up my nose, right into my brain, and why was I so itchy?! The loudening explosions echoing around refused to cease, and it was tipping me over the edge. I stopped walking, and felt myself begin to sway. 

“Hey, man, you okay?” came the unsure tones of the soldier standing behind me. His voice seemed so loud. 

My vision was swimming, and the dead were still yelling. Not even Ben was here to help me now.

Suddenly, I was falling. Falling. Blackness swallowed me as I passed out.

…

I awoke with a start, feeling disoriented and confused.

I seemed to have forgotten everything I knew, and the only thing I noticed was the agonising pounding of my head, and the furious heat enveloping my body. And the voices, of course.

But- suddenly- everything that had happened in the past few days flooded back to me, and, opening my eyes, I harshly pushed myself into a sitting position, alarm engulfing every part of my body. 

“Hey, hey,” the man who had watched me pass out was now standing next to me, his voice gentle as he attempted to calm me down, “You’re alright. It’s gonna be okay. Just take a deep breath and lay back down.”

I felt the man place his hand on my arm, but, feeling a little dazed, I jerked away from his touch.

“Where am I?” I asked him desperately.

The soldier looked concerned. “Back at camp. Do you not remember?” I noticed that he had moved back to sit on the bed next to me in an attempt to give me more space.

“No…” I moaned. He clearly didn’t understand what I meant. “Where am I? When am I?”

“Vietnam. 1968. April.” He replied, looking rather unsure of what to do.

“Sh**!” I buried my face in my hands, and couldn’t help but let a dry sob escape my throat. Why did the worst things have to happen to me? Why did it have to be me who ended up time travelling into a war? In the sixties, no less!

“Don’t worry.” The man’s soft voice broke my train of thought broke my downward-spiralling train of thought, and I saw that he had stood up. “Shall I go and find a medic? I think you may have a concussion.”

“No. No. There’s nothing they can do.” I whispered. God, the sixties! The sixties may have been good, but not great. No Queen, or Backstreet Boys, or Die Hard, or Reese's Pieces, or… “Beyoncé. I’m never gonna hear Beyoncé again!” 

“Who’s Beyoncé?” asked the soldier, sounding bewildered. Damn, my ears! I’d never thought I’d hear anyone say that. I can’t even imagine a time without Beyoncé! I merely shook my head, and he sighed. “Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?”

“Is my coat and that briefcase in here?” I asked him, just as my eyes landed on both items, and relief washed over me. Followed by a wave of dizziness. “Could you bring them over please?”

The man went over and did as I said, leaving the briefcase next to my bead and passing me my coat. After murmuring a “thank you” to him, I looked through its pockets until I found what I needed. Drugs. Thankfully, the evil torture twins hadn’t destroyed all of them- only a couple of pills, though they, quite tragically, had eaten my special chocolate (though, looking back, seeing them high as kites was pretty funny). The man raised his eyebrows in amusement as I threw a few of the pills into my mouth.

“Asthma medication,” I muttered, and, in return, he grinned. I knew it would take a few minutes for the effects to kick in, and I closed my eyes as the dead continued to yell and beg, their voices getting louder and louder.

My breathing began to get heavier as I grew increasingly tense, and I noticed that I was shaking, the tremors growing increasingly violent. 

“Shall I--” the man began, but I interrupted him.

“Just leave me alone. Please. I’m sorry.” 

The soldier looked as though he wanted to protest, but the look of desperation I gave him convinced him to do as I said. He nodded, resigned, and walked away.

I fell back flat onto my back and, wincing, raised my hands and used them to cover my head, in a desperate attempt to try and block out the dead moaning all around me. Ben and I needed a plan, and we needed one soon. But, first, I needed the voices to go away.

…

“Klaus.”

With a moan, I pushed my hands even more firmly against my ears. The pills had been working; the ghosts had been disappearing, the voices going away.

It seemed, however, that the pills were taking longer to work, as a ghost was still whispering my name.

“Klaus!” the voice said again, but this time louder, and I couldn’t help but think it seemed somewhat familiar, even with the sound muffled by my hands, “Klaussss! I know you can hear me, bro.”

“Ben?” At last I opened my eyes, and I was met by the sight of the person (well, technically, ghostie) I needed the most right now.

He was standing right next to the bed, black hoodie, black jacket, black trousers and all. 

Feeling far calmer, I sat up, and was relieved to see that there were no other ghosts but Ben around, and I no longer was experiencing withdrawal. 

“Oh my God! Ben! I’m so happy to see you!” I squealed excitedly, “But you took your time- here I was thinking ghosts couldn’t time travel.”

“Time travel?” Ben frowned, looking around the large tent we were in, “A week ago, I would have thought us travelling through time was ridiculous. But with Five coming back… I’m not surprised. Though I don’t really know what happened. After you opened that case, there was just a lot of… nothing… until I felt this pull, like a magnet, and I sorta just went towards it, and… here I am.”

“Here you are. With your favourite bro. In Vietnam! It’s basically a free vacation.” I giggled, and then laid back down and turned onto my side so I had a full view of Ben, who was now sitting on the bed he had been standing by. 

Ben rolled his eyes, and then frowned at me, a serious look on his face. 

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Better now.” I reassured him, as a shiver passed through me at the thought of the terror twins and that hellish motel room I had been locked in. Ben stared hard at me for a moment longer, and then relaxed, his look gentler.

“Alright. That’s good. I’m just pleased to be back. As annoying and self-destructive as you are, Klaus, I can’t stand… being away from you.” Ben blushed, (or, I don’t know, whatever the ghost alternative of that is), embarrassed at his overshare of information. 

“Awww, Benny, you’re so sweet.” I giggled, grinning at him.

Ben, being Ben, of course, couldn’t handle this lovely brother bonding moment, so he quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, we need to go back home.”

“Mhm...” I hummed in agreement, “But how exactly do we do that?”

“I guess… back the way we came?” Ben suggested the obvious- and only- option. 

“Okay.” Leaning down, I picked up the briefcase from where it had been laying next to my bed, and sat up, cross legged. “As much as I hate the experience of time travel, I’ll do it for Beyoncé.”

Ben appeared facing me on my bed, able to move through space and reality without moving like all ghosts (from my lengthy experience) seem to be able to, his face a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

“Ready to go back, Benny?”

“Ready, Klaus.”

So, in 1968, in the middle of the Vietnam War, I found myself sitting on a bed in a tent with my ghost brother, slowly opening a briefcase’s catches, my heart beating out a drum solo in my chest. Closing my eyes and crossing my toes, I slowly opened the time travel machine up.

And nothing happened.

**Author's Note:**

> I know very little about the army/the Vietnam War, so I'm sorry in advance if any of my information is incorrect. Thank you for reading!


End file.
